


Chill

by ShatteredSwallowtail



Category: Bleach
Genre: Gen, Hints of shinjixhiyori
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-10-11 14:57:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20548052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShatteredSwallowtail/pseuds/ShatteredSwallowtail





	Chill

Small hands shifted slightly, rubbing together for warmth as blond brows drew together in frustration and distaste. It was cold, and despite the fact that some would have said it was her own fault -- after all, what sensible person wore flip-flops in winter -- not a one of those few would have been in possession of the stones to actually say so to her face. Shifting uncomfortably on the stoop, she glanced over her shoulder with an irate glare at the glow of the window behind her. Idiot. In there, schmoozing it up while she sat out here on the cold steps and waited. The fact that she would have been welcomed inside meant little, certainly not enough to actually persuade her to come inside into the warm and -- at least to some -- inviting home. No, she was going to sit out here and wait. In the cold.

Sarugaki Hiyori hated the cold.

Not just because of the simple fact that the feeling of harsh wintery gusts against relatively bare feet and lower legs was a frankly unpleasant experience, or even because she didn't like the fact that a simple cotton tank top and a jersey sweatsuit were little protection from the wind. Cold... reminded her.

It reminded her of a lot of things, first and foremost her childhood growing up in Rukongai. Of long nights spent shivering against the harsh biting cold of winter that somehow managed to find itself a new entrance point even after she and Shinji had plugged the first crack up with whatever they could find to spare. And that was after they'd met, after his family had been killed and he'd been reduced to the same as her. An orphan, living on the streets and scraping by. Curling up together in the same bedroll at night, not out of any sort of friendly affection, but simply because on those coldest of nights the bodyheat was what kept them alive.

She'd hated those nights, and it'd had nothing to do with the fact that each evening she would beat Shinji's grinning face into the futon with the promise that if he so much as thought something dirty or perverted, the resultant beating would be far worse, and everything to do with that numbing feeling of helplessness whenever she tried to think of how hopefully the coming day would bring a better situation.

Hiyori hated feeling helpless, hated it almost more than she hated any one of the number of things on her list -- Shinji's irritating grin, shinigami, and humans being pretty close to the top. She hated lying there, shivering at night, and knowing her self, her life, her entire existence was held in the palm of something intangible, something she couldn't grasp or even truly comprehend. It made her feel small, and she would be damned if she had to feel any smaller than her short stature already caused.

Cold was Aizen Sousuke's smile, the gesture that -- on anyone else -- would have been comforting, warm even. The corners of his cruelly handsome mouth turning up in a curve not of warmth or caring, but of vicious, malevolent amusement at the chaos he'd wrought. And it hadn't even been the smile itself that was cold. He was too good for that. No, the cold showed through in the brown eyes behind nondescript black glasses, chilling anyone who met them. It was a different sort of cold than the wintery chill around her, but the feeling was there nonetheless.

But the coldest feeling of all... was the way it had felt that first time. Bruised, battered, body nearly feverish with the effort of staying a step ahead of the monster Kensei had become, she'd not known what was coming. None of them had. But then, with her slight form tucked under Shinji's white-garbed arm, she'd felt the cold. Dark, icy fingers reaching up, touching her mind, her soul, in a way she'd never been touched before. She'd felt it, though she hadn't understood, felt that sense of wrongness, felt the indefinable thing that made her her beginning to slip away. Sliding backwards as though gliding inexorably down an icy slope towards a cold and bottomless ocean of darkness that threatened to open wide and swallow her whole.

She still felt that darkness. That cold. It slithered it's way serpentine into her dreams, turning them to nightmares gilded with eerie high-pitched laughter and icy fingertips sliding over her skin. It was the reason why most nights, she didn't sleep. Or at least, didn't sleep much, fitful bursts of deep and lingering respite interrupted with the ever-present lingering chill of icy fingers in her mind that would send her reeling from sleep with a startled bleat of fright, that same bleat abruptly cut off in light of the potential of discovery.

Glancing up at the heavy cloudcover, her scowl deepened even more as faint, tiny flakes of white began to fall. Damn snow. Only making it colder. Hunching her narrow shoulders even higher up to shield her ears, she registered the sound of the door opening before the heavy weight of fabric settled around her shoulders with a slight whump. A jacket, still warm from it's prior position on someone else's person. Craning her head up in surprise, she narrowed her eyes at Shinji's tall, lanky figure looming over her, then looking at the pooled tan fabric of his jacket where it was now sheltering her smaller form from the cold.

Shinji rolled his eyes, hands on narrow hips and a mildly aggravated look on his face as he stared down at her.

"Che... ya know, fer someone who hates the cold so much, ya'd think you'd come inside."

At her answering glare, he just shrugged and tossed her that same cheshire grin, adjusting his hat on his head as he sauntered off down the sidewalk.

"Or maybe ya just wanted ta wear my jacket."

Jaw clenched, she felt the blood rise in her face for a moment before she was off and pounding after him, amidst loud and noisy assertions that not only did she neither need nor want his crummy jacket, but that she'd pound him into the ground for even suggesting it.


End file.
